


Missed You Sad

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (my_mad_fatuation)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Jeans, Loneliness, M/M, POV Simon Snow, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 16:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19023229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: It’s weird to think I don’t have a girlfriend anymore. Now that I’m here, where I would usually be with my girlfriend. Well, nothere, in the room. I’m used to being alone in here.Actually, that’s not entirely true. Because, as much as I like to pretend he’s not around, even when he is, there’s no escaping Baz’s presence in the room. He’s not particularly noisy, or anything. He’s not messy, either; that’s all me. But the air feels different when he’s here. Heavier. I’m not sure if it’s my magic leaking out from stress when he’s around, or the scent of his posh soaps. Maybe it’s both.Simon misses Agatha since they broke up. Probably. When he finds a well that can grant a magician what they most want--with all their heart and soul--he wishes that she could be here with him. But the heart wants what it wants.





	Missed You Sad

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the "So Claybe" fic I've been teasing on my tumblr for the past couple days! If you have no idea what "So Claybe" is, someone took the song "Call Me Maybe" and removed every other beat. [The result is hilarious and I can't get enough of it](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com/post/185139739732/beyblade-official-lesbianlinkle). And being the trash that I am, I couldn't stop myself from pulling some of the lines--the ones that weren't total gibberish anyway--and trying to construct a fic around them. It was supposed to be pure and utter crack, but it accidentally got all the feels, so... _Voilà._
> 
> This takes place in a canon-like universe, but most of the actual plot things from canon are nonexistent. Just don't think about it too hard.
> 
> Many thanks to [giishu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giishu) for helping me bounce ideas around and encouraging me to do stupid things in general. And to my Circle of Tears, [soultoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultoast/pseuds/soultoast) and [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff), for the beta help and rude hand gestures. (But I take full responsibility for any rogue typos because this was _littered_ with them at first.)

I tried not to think about it.

I tried not to think about what happened between Agatha and me right before we went home for the summer break. The breakup, I guess. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?

In any case, I’ve gotten good at not thinking about anything to do with Watford while I’m in care for the summer, just so I have a pleasant surprise when I return for the autumn term and it’s still there. It really exists.

Being back here, though, I can’t not think about some things anymore. I’m here before many of the other students—at least most of the eighth-year students, except for me and a couple others. Gareth and Rhys, are here, for instance, so I sit with them for dinner and stuff. But my close friends, Penny and—well, I don’t know if Agatha is considered a close friend anymore. Neither one of them is here yet, anyway.

Baz isn’t here, either, which is nice, I guess, because it means I get our room to myself for a few days. It’s the only time I get to sleep in a room without having to hear anyone else breathing. I try my best to enjoy it.

I’m having trouble getting to sleep, though. It’s _too_ quiet. It gives me too much space to think in. Even though I’m allowed to think about things once I’m at Watford, I don’t know that I want to think about _this_. About Agatha.

I don’t even know what this feeling is, exactly. I guess I miss her. Usually I’d have dinner with her on the first night back at Watford, but she’s not here yet, and even if she were, I’m not sure if she would have had dinner with me. I don’t know if she even likes me anymore.

It’s weird to think I don’t have a girlfriend anymore. Now that I’m here, where I would usually be with my girlfriend. Well, not _here_ , in the room. I’m used to being alone in here.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. Because, as much as I like to pretend he’s not around, even when he is, there’s no escaping Baz’s presence in the room. He’s not particularly noisy, or anything. He’s not messy, either; that’s all me. But the air feels different when he’s here. Heavier. I’m not sure if it’s my magic leaking out from stress when he’s around, or the scent of his posh soaps. Maybe it’s both.

In any case, his unmistakable absence at the moment just emphasizes how alone I really am now. The thought of it creeps through my veins, making me itch far enough beneath the surface that there’s no way I can scratch it. (I still try anyway, because at least the feeling of my nails on my skin is a decent distraction, for a little while.)

This isn’t a magic thing. My magic feels different than this. There’s no thrum of power coursing through me. It’s just _ickiness_.

_If Agatha doesn’t want me, then who possibly could?_

I miss her. I think. I miss… something. There’s a hole gnawing away at me, inside my chest, and I think it just wants to be filled.

At this point, I’d settle for any sort of human contact. Not necessarily physical, even. Just sharing space with me. Breathing the same air as me. Anything to know that I’m not alone.

I inhale deeply now, resting my arms at my sides as I lie in my bed; they still sting a little from where I’ve been scratching. I exhale, trying to calm my nerves. I inhale again, and hope to find something familiar to latch onto. Something to make me feel centred. Grounded. Home.

I try to catch a hint of cedar and bergamot.

* * *

I think I returned to Watford too early.

I always like to get here as soon as I can leave care, since it is an infinitely nicer place to be, but I’ve been here two days already and there’s still hardly anyone here. (Classes don’t start for a few more days, but the first days before classes are usually some of the most fun of the year.) (When people can be bothered to show up, that is.)

I know that Penny is still visiting Micah in America until tomorrow, but I don’t know where Agatha is. I suppose there’s a chance she is here and just avoiding me. I don’t think she’d do that, though.

As for Baz, I have no idea where he is. But I normally do get a couple days without him here at the beginning of the term, and if I get a couple extra, all the better. I’m not _concerned_ , or anything. It’s just getting a bit tiring. Being alone all the time, I mean.

I’ve spent most of the past two days wandering the grounds. I’ve visited Ebb and the goats a couple times, and I even managed to find some things around Watford, tucked away in corners, that I’d never seen before.

Like the well.

I had no idea there was a well at Watford, but it’s around the far side of the grounds, outside the moat, and I’ve never had a reason to come back here before. I don’t have a reason now, I guess, but I’m already bored of my usual walk and wanted a change of scenery.

I’m not really sure what kind of purpose it serves. I don’t think anyone uses it to get water—there’s not even a bucket in it. When I peer down into the opening, I can’t see the water, either. But it’s so dark, that it might just be too far down. I suppose it’s out of use, in any case.

* * *

I make a point to ask Ebb about the well when I see her the next day. She explains that it used to be able to grant wishes—only to magicians, and only if they truly wanted something with all their heart. Apparently, it was tricky to predict how it would work, though, especially if the person didn’t know what they truly wanted. Caused trouble, much of the time. So the pathway leading to it got covered up, and a spell was cast to make that area seem so boring that no one would ever want to wander that way.

Unless they’re _really_ bored, I guess.

But now that I know it’s there, I can’t stop myself from going to take another look. If it could grant me something I truly want with all my heart… Well, maybe it would help with the gaping hole inside of me, which only grows bigger every day and night that I spend alone here.

I’m not even sure what I truly want. I think I just want things to go back to the way they were, when everything made sense. When I had Penny and Agatha by my side, always.

Penny, at least, will be back soon. She’ll stick with me, I’m sure. But I don’t know about Agatha. She might not want to talk to me when she finally returns. I think that’s the part that’s eating me up. Knowing I may never have that again.

A horrible thought flashes through my mind, one that’s been lurking in the corners for a while now, but I refused to acknowledge. Now that Agatha and I aren’t together, there’s nothing to stop Baz from whisking her away. He’ll turn her against me—maybe even _Turn_ her. He is a vampire after all. (I’m pretty sure, anyway.)

It hurts to think about it. To think of them together, mocking me. Or maybe they’d both ignore me; I think that sounds worse.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Baz was behind all of this. I did see him in the woods with Agatha, holding hands, a couple of days before she broke up with me. I was willing to look past it—for the most part—but apparently she didn’t think we were worth fighting for. We _belong_ together, though. She didn’t see that.

She should be here with me now.

Obviously, I miss her, or else the thought of her ignoring me—ignoring me _for Baz_ —wouldn’t be tearing me apart like this. I miss her with all my heart, I think. So I should be able to wish for her back…

I mean, it’s probably forbidden to use a wishing well to make someone love you, but that’s not what I’d wish for. I just want her here. If she were here, I could talk to her. I could make things right.

“I wish Agatha Wellbelove were here with me now,” I say at the well. I say it with conviction, like I’m casting a spell, too. I don’t think I need to use my own magic for it, but I’m not sure.

When nothing happens, I try again. This time I do my best to let my magic slip into it, without going overboard—or going off.

Still nothing. Yet another thing that my poor control of magic has screwed up for me.

I kick at the stone ledge of the well in frustration and then slump to the ground, sitting with my legs crossed. I’m so tired of this. Of everything.

 _I’m sorry,_ I think. _I’m sorry I’m not a good enough mage. Or a good enough boyfriend. I just… miss you, and I wish you were here now. I really want to see you._

I sigh wearily and lie back in the grass, closing my eyes to shield them from the sun overhead. There’s a slight incline in the ground up to the well, so I end up lying at a bit of a downward angle, making the blood flow to my head. I can’t stay like this.

Just as I think about sitting up again, the sky above me goes dark—though my eyes are still closed, I can no longer see the red of the light through my eyelids. Only darkness.

But before I can open my eyes to figure out what happened, I’m hit hard in the face by… something. No, _someone_. Whatever it is moves as soon as it hits me, so it has to be alive.

“Ow! What the f—” I groan, rubbing my face with my hand as I try to sit up and see what on Earth is going on.

There is someone on the ground next to me. Someone whose knee just hit me in the face when they… what? Fell from the sky? That can’t be possible, can it? No, they can’t have fallen from very high, because my face isn’t broken.

I struggle to sit further upright, and I notice the other person scrambling to do the same. It takes me a moment to recognize who it is, though. The outfit makes no sense, in the context, but the hair is unmistakable.

“ _Baz?_ ” I say, practically choking on the word. “How—What are you… Y-you’re wearing—Are those jeans _stolen_?”

I’m not entirely sure why his sudden presence is less concerning at the moment then the fact that he’s wearing _jeans_ , but I’ve never seen Baz in jeans before, in all the years I’ve shared a room with him. I can’t even picture him in jeans, and he’s right here in front of me, wearing them.

“ _What?_ ” he snaps, sitting up and brushing dirt off his knees with a look of disgust on his face. “Did you just ask me if my jeans are stolen?”

“I—I mean—I don’t know!” I’m blustering, but I can’t help it; he always makes me feel like an idiot. “It just seemed like the only reason you would wear jeans! You’re _evil_ , after all.”

“Believe it or not, Snow, I do wear jeans at home,” he says. He picks at a spot of dirt on one knee with his fingernail and grumbles to himself. “ _Crowley_ , these are my favourite pair, too.”

“Well, you aren’t at home, so why are you wearing them now?”

“Because I _was_ at home until about thirty seconds ago,” he says through gritted teeth, glaring at me.

“What?”

“What did you do, Snow?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything!”

“Then how come I was walking to my kitchen one minute and tripping over your head the next, hmm?” He pushes himself to his feet and stands, turning to look around as he brushes off the back of his jeans as well.

The jeans fit him too well to be stolen, I think.

“Where even are we?” he asks, still looking around. He stops when notices the wall and moat. “Watford, I suppose.”

“Yeah…”

He glances over at the well and lets out an exasperated sigh, dropping his shoulders and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did you use the wishing well, Snow?”

“I—er—How do you know what it is?” I ask, not-so-skillfully avoiding his question.

“I know all of Watford’s secrets,” he says with a smirk. He still looks angry, though. (I guess if I’d been teleported on my way to get food, I’d be angry, too.)

I stand as well, but I don’t bother brushing the dirt off my clothes—I’ll just get Penny to spell them clean when she gets here.

“I didn’t use the well,” I tell him, taking a couple steps towards it to try and gain some height advantage over him. “I mean, I tried, but… It clearly didn’t work.”

“If you wished to completely ruin my day, then I think it did. Congratulations.”

“I didn’t, I—I wished that Agatha was here,” I admit, looking down and kicking at the stone again. Lightly.

“Didn’t you two break up?”

I lift my head quickly to frown at him. “How do you know about that?”

“She told me, of course.”

“ _When?_ ”

“Shortly after she told you, I expect. She seemed quite eager to see what I thought about the matter.”

I clench my hands into fists and set my jaw. I can feel my magic bubbling to the surface—it doesn’t feel anything like loneliness, I was right—but Baz just rolls his eyes.

“I told her I didn’t care, Snow. You can chill.”

“Why are you even here?” I growl, and I can tell my magic is growing palpable in the air, because he backs up half a step.

“You clearly mucked something up,” he says, waving a hand towards me. “You can’t even make a wish right. Or—” He squints at me all of a sudden. “What _did_ you wish for? Exactly?”

“I told you, I wished for Agatha to be here.”

“What words did you use? Did you wish for her by name?”

“Wha—Of course I did! I said, ‘I wish Agatha Wellbelove were here with me now.’ It should have been straightforward.”

“So you wished for her _by name_ , but I appeared instead?”

“No, nothing happened when I wished,” I explain. “I wished for her a couple times, and nothing. I’d already given up by the time you appeared.”

“What were you _thinking about_ , then?” he asks, sweeping his hair back out of his face. (That’s different now, too. It’s usually already swept neatly back with products. Or magic. I don’t know.)

“What does that matter?”

“Your magic, it’s—You can do magic without words, can’t you? Maybe you can wish without words, too. It’s all about what you truly want, in your heart, isn’t it? If you were thinking about that, then maybe…”

“You think _you’re_ what I truly want, in my heart?” I’m practically squawking, but it’s such a ridiculous accusation.

“Perhaps what you truly want is to get on my last nerve, every moment of the day,” he sneers. “Not a very noble wish, Snow. Some Chosen One you are.”

“That’s not what I want!”

He raises an eyebrow at me, patronizingly. “No? Then what _do_ you want? Since it’s obviously not Wellbelove, or else she’d be here, wouldn’t she?”

“That—It’s not—You don’t know that!”

“You don’t even know what you want, do you?” he scoffs.

“I—I—I just—”

“Use your words, Snow.”

“ _I just want to feel like I’m home!_ ” I shout suddenly, surprising both of us, it seems.

That was it, wasn’t it? The thing that’s been missing since I got here. Since I left last term, actually. I feel at home at Watford—usually. But it’s been different since I returned. Too much has changed, and I needed something familiar to ground me.

But why _Baz_?

Of all the people at Watford who make it feel like home to me, why the one who hates me most of all? Why—

As soon as the wind shifts, it hits me. _Cedar and bergamot_.

“So you thought you’d pry me away from mine so we can both suffer?” he says.

I drop my head and groan loudly, covering my face with my hands. “I’m such an idiot,” I mutter.

“I could have told you tha—” He shuts up as soon as I reach for him and grab his jumper in my fists. “Crowley, Snow, what are you—”

The scent gets stronger when I pull him closer. Strong enough that I can smell it over the smokiness of my magic. (It’s fading now, anyway.)

“You,” I say, staring into his eyes, so wide and so grey and so… scared? _Is he scared of me?_ “You’re… it.”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion—I don’t really blame him. I’m still confused about this myself. But I scan his entire face for a moment, just taking in how right it looks. He’s _here_.

“This is what I was missing,” I breathe. I almost think he won’t hear me, but his eyes get even wider at that. Just for a second. And then they get icy again.

“What, you missed _manhandling_ me?” he says, grabbing my wrists to yank my hands off him.

I let go of his jumper without a fight, but hold onto his hands instead, shaking my head. “Just… you. Everything. About you.”

He glances down at our entwined hands, and I realize there’s a good chance he could take this opportunity to kill me. I might be even more of an idiot than I thought.

But I doubt it.

Because he hasn’t done it yet. And because he looks like he would be blushing right now if he were, you know, _not_ a vampire. (Should I be concerned about that?) (Probably.) (But I’m not. Not at the moment, anyway.)

His hands are so cold, but they’re squeezing mine back, and it feels… nice. I’ve never thought about doing something like this before, though.

Actually, that might be a lie. Standing like this with him, face to face, hand in hand, I realize I have a whole list in my head of things I’ve wanted to do with him. A list I’ve managed to avoid thinking about, as much as possible.

I don’t think it’s possible to avoid thinking about it anymore.

I’ll fully admit that this seems crazy. We’re _enemies_. We _hate each other_. Except that this doesn’t feel like we’re enemies now, does it? Enemies don’t do this with each other. _Enemies don’t let each other do this_. And Baz is letting me. That’s gotta mean… something.

Fixing my gaze with his, I take another step closer to him, slowly. He has every chance to run now—or punch me—and he’s not. He still looks a bit terrified but, to be honest, so am I. I’m not afraid of _him_ , though. Just _this_. I think everything’s about to change.

So I try not to think about it.

“Simon—” he starts to say, but I cut him off abruptly by letting go of his hands and taking hold of the sides of his face, instead.

I’m not thinking, I’m just doing.

I’m just kissing him.

His mouth is cold, like his hands. Like everything about him, I guess. This also feels nice, though. Because he’s kissing me back.

It’s not for long; it’s not a proper snog or anything. But it’s enough. For now, anyway.

Enough to unlock a door I didn’t even know was there.

“Why did you…?” he says after I pull back a bit. Only slightly. (I’m still much closer than I was before—closer than I’ve ever been, actually.)

I shrug and let my hands rest on his shoulders. “I wanted to. Truly.”

“Snow, I—”

“You called me Simon before,” I point out, and he frowns a little.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did!”

“I most certainly did not,” he says, turning his head away.

I growl in annoyance and nudge his jaw until he faces me again. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

He snorts. “You’re one to talk, Snow.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re so stubborn that you’d rather pretend that _this_ is what you truly want, than admit that you can’t even make a wish properly.”

“Alright, fine, you caught me,” I say, rolling my eyes before sliding my hands up into his hair and around the back of his neck. “And I’m too stubborn to drop the act now, so I’m just going to have to do this forever.”

He stares at me another moment and then juts his chin forward to push his lips against mine again. His hands settle on my waist this time, but end up around my back when I close the remaining distance between us.

I think _this_ is a proper snog.

I’m not sure how long it’s been when we finally come up for air, laughing giddily. (He’ll probably deny that part later.) (He might deny all of this, actually.)

He lets his eyes drift shut again as stroke the back of his head, dragging my fingertips through his smooth hair. I like this. Him. Here with me like this. I feel full in a way that makes me think I’ve been missing this for longer than a few days or months. I think I’ve been missing this my whole life.

“Hey,” I say softly, rousing him from his relaxed, post-snogging haze, until he looks me in the eye again. “We should probably figure out how to get you home, right?”

He presses his forehead against mine and sighs contentedly. “I think I am.”

_So am I._

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to keep up with my shenanigans online, you can find me on tumblr as [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com)!


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